


That's how stories work

by makaronik



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Empress Padmé Amidala, F/M, Fix-It, Force-Sensitive Padmé Amidala, Metaphysical Intimacy, Recreational Drug Use, Sparring, That's Not How The Force Works (Star Wars), Unhealthy Relationships, kind of? not rly, not just yet tho, not really and still much better than canon, these tags are not going well huh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 13:48:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29279466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makaronik/pseuds/makaronik
Summary: And just for a moment the haze lifts and she lets herself consider it. So many times already she’s been, not even tempted, but outright propositioned by fate. They did really want to change the constitution to let her stay in office, and although it was never as grand as he seems to think, she never let it get past a half serious proposition, it had felt like a test. She still isn’t sure if she hasn’t failed it, because as much as she’d never admit it, “commitment to democracy” was nothing more than a catchphrase she used to push the idea away. In reality after most of a decade as queen Naboo had started to feel provincial and insignificant. She wanted more, she wanted real change. “Real power” a voice would whisper in her ear sometimes, and she’d squash it down or drown it out but it has been getting louder, impossible to ignore since he’d come back into her life. It’s so easy to imagine it. Who could stop her with him at her side? Who could ever say no to him? Or maybe that’s just her. Maybe she’s just weak.What if Padme was a tiny bit more unhinged and it saved the galaxy
Relationships: Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 7
Kudos: 22





	That's how stories work

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter is pretty much just a rewrite of AOTC from Padme's POV, with a few scenes added. The next two will be Anakin's POV of the clone wars, then Obi-Wan and ROTS, but those will be moving much further away from canon.

Padmé feels drunk. She has for days now, ever since she saw Anakin again. She could barely see everyone in the room wincing at his painfully awkward compliments, overshadowed as they were by the pure devotion and young love, violently strong like she barely remembers her own being, just radiating off him. She knew what he was saying was absurd, but it was so honest that it took all her concentration and training not to giggle like a teenager anyway. 

The second she looked in his eyes the room spun around her, realigning, locking them together like a heat seeking missile, and days later when he kissed her on the balcony with no shame, no regards for the problems it could bring it felt like the explosion finally came, and she’s still not sure she survived it. 

She has much bigger things to worry about, but they all seem to fade away into the background when he’s near. Reality around him warps and shimmers like air above a speeder on a hot day, making him seem like the only fact in a dreamlike and hazy world. She hasn’t had much contact with jedi in the last decade but she’s almost certain this isn’t normal. Neither Qui-Gon nor Obi-Wan ever made her feel like this. Anakin had, a bit, even as a child, but he’s obviously only gotten stronger since. Back then being near him had felt like staring into the sun, if only the sun could stare right back at you. Now she’s flying straight into his supernova, and she might burn up long before she gets there. 

She’s floating in a sea of metaphors and higher emotions, most of them not even hers, but every so often he’ll say something so out of place, betraying such a deep simmering insecurity that it shocks her out of the daze, makes her consider with a cooler mind what’s happening. There are assassins after her. She’s kissed a Jedi. She might be falling in love with said Jedi. It will definitely ruin both their careers if she lets it get any further. He’s the most fascinating person she’s met in her life, and at the same time, still a child. He’s constantly projecting barely identifiable emotions that patter at the back of her mind, but here in the warm quiet meadow it’s all dissolving into a haze of bliss. The smell of the wildflowers is intoxicating, sweeter than she remembers it ever being before, and combined with the sun warming her skin it makes the whole thing feel like a dream, like she could do absolutely anything and never face any consequences.

“I don't think the system works,” he says, and he’s certainly not wrong, but for every person that’s ever said that, it had a completely different meaning.

“How would you have it work?” She tests the water, and he answers in the worst possible way. It’s not even malicious, just childish and idealistic, reminding her again of how young he still is, but for someone with his power, righteous intent really isn’t all that important. 

“People don’t always agree,” she explains, plainly, obviously.

“Then they should be made to.” And of course he’d say that, everyone thinks it sometimes. She still thinks that sometimes, when faced with the indifference she’s seen politicians have towards blatant evil, but that still leaves the question:

“By whom, who’s going to make them?”

“I don’t know, someone.”

“You?” She asks, and she’s just pushing him now, testing how far down this goes.

“Of course not me.” Of course.

“But someone?”

“Someone wise.”

“Sounds an awful lot like a dictatorship to me.”

“Well, if it works.”

And just for a moment the birds quiet down imperceptibly, a thin cloud passes over the sun, and she feels something else, something new from him. The haze lifts and she lets herself consider it. So many times already she’s been, not even tempted, but outright propositioned by fate. They did really want to change the constitution to let her stay in office, and although it was never as grand as he seems to think, she never let it get past a half serious proposition, it had felt like a test. She still isn’t sure if she hasn’t failed it, because as much as she’d never admit it, “commitment to democracy” was nothing more than a catchphrase she used to push the idea away. In reality after most of a decade as queen Naboo had started to feel provincial and insignificant. She wanted more, she wanted real change. “Real power” a voice would whisper in her ear sometimes, and she’d squash it down or drown it out but it has been getting louder, impossible to ignore since he’d come back into her life. It’s so easy to imagine it. Who could stop her with him at her side? Who could ever say no to him? Or maybe that’s just her. Maybe she’s just weak.

Then he laughs, breaking the spell, like he knows what she’s thinking, knows why she can’t go down that road, and just like that they’re just two young people having fun again, like they’re normal, like they’re allowed to, like they don’t each have at least part of the weight of the galaxy resting on their shoulders. 

He’s obviously showing off riding the shaak, and she shouldn’t be impressed, she isn’t really, but she is delighted by how much he wants to impress her and that’s just about the same thing. Until he falls and doesn’t get up. The fear that slaps her, cold and sudden, is worryingly intense, but by the time she reaches him she can feel the glee rolling off of him in barely restrained waves, like a muffled giggle giving away a game of hide and seek, turning into a loud laugh by the time she turns him over and slaps him. And then he rolls her under him, forgetting all about propriety, about her titles or his duties, and she does too, and she could spend her whole life here, just spinning in the grass, never thinking of power or obligations again, if only he’d stay with her. But of course they can’t. This is nothing but a hopeless dream, they’ve both got something bigger waiting for them. 

***

He clearly knows it, but he must think she doesn’t yet, and apparently he’s not above begging to make her see it too, because here, in the parlor after dinner he’s being so painfully honest it might kill her. 

“I’m in agony,” he says, no self awareness, no shame, not even drama since it’s all true. She knows, she feels it too. She’s dreamed of a love like that her entire life, bright and strong and life shattering, and of course she’d get it in the worst possible circumstances. She can’t let this go on, but she can't stop it either. The room is pressing in on her, dark and warm, and her dress is tight and heavy, and there’s no air left to breathe, only him.

“What can I do? I will do anything you ask,” he continues, and that only makes it worse, because she can’t take that responsibility. He’d give himself to her completely, if she just said the word, and not only would she have his whole heart in her hands, all that power would be hers too, to do with as she please, and she’s not sure there are limits to that. 

“We could keep it a secret.” The oppressive heat is gone now, a cool night breeze rustles the fire and she wonders, not for the first time, if he’s the one doing it. If so, is it even on purpose, or does the world around him just bend and twist willingly to add gravity to his words.

“We’d be living a lie, I couldn’t do that.” Couldn’t you though? Whispers that same dangerous voice. Could you give this up without even trying?

“No, you’re right. It would destroy us.” And just like that, he gives up and leaves. 

***

She doesn’t take it as surrender though, more like a challenge, because later, alone in bed, she wonders would it though? Would it really? Denying this is so much harder now that she’s not trying to convince him, now that she’s actually letting herself feel it, not just thinking about it rationally, and she can feel him doing the same, nothing but a wall between them. 

She won’t be able to sleep anyway and she can’t handle any of this sober and that gives her a stupid idea. She’s not quite sure what the Jedi rules about alcohol are but either way he strikes her as a lightweight, possibly of the crying kind, and that’s the last thing they need. But she already misses the warm, inconsequential fun they had earlier, and as much as she’s not ready to give in to his love and all that comes with it, she already knows she’s never going to let him go, and for a little longer she can lie to herself and try to just be friends. She changes into a pair of pyjamas, because if she catches him staring at her collarbone like that again friendship will be the last thing on her mind, and digs in her closet, where behind the shoeboxes, hidden under a loose floorboard, is a carved wooden box, and in it a small bag of dried herbs and an even smaller pipe, leftover from the careless summers she’d spent here with her friends. 

She’s already decided she’s gonna get as much fun out of this situation as possible. He makes her feel like a teenager again, and she’ll chase that feeling as far as it’ll take her. After a decade in politics she’s learned to take vacations whenever she can, and an assasinatjon attempt is as good a reason as any. Getting her bodyguard high while someone wants her dead maybe isn't the smartest thing she could do, but she doesn’t intend to smoke that much, just enough to get him to relax a little, maybe mellow out the waves of messy and desperate first crush emotions rolling off him constantly. Besides, with any luck nobody even knows they’re here, and he might be a lot of things, but unlucky definitely isn’t one of them.

She knocks on his door, and he answers in seconds. She gestures to keep quiet, not to wake her handmaidens, and leads him through the terrasse all the way around the house, till they’re near the empty rooms on the far side. 

“Is that spice?” He asks, when she sits down with her legs dangling off the edge, over the lake, and starts packing the pipe. He’s clearly curious, and apprehensive, and embarrassed by not knowing. She knows shouldn’t be able to read that from just his posture and tone, and she didn’t, nor really. She just knows.

“It’s an herb the Gungans grow. It makes you calm and happy. Helps you sleep,” eventually, she doesn’t add. 

She lights it and inhales slowly, heavy smoke mingling with soft night air. She lets herself cough on the exhale, because he probably will too, and the last thing she wants is for him to be embarrassed about it. She’s a bit unsettled by how attuned to his feelings she already is, how much she’s willing to do to protect them, but this isn’t that big a sacrifice, and the point of this was to stop overthinking and just have fun. She hands the pipe to him, shows him how to inhale, then finishes it off in two drags and dumps the contents over the railing, watching the glowing orange dot on the way down until it reaches the water and dies. 

She lays back on the still warm stone, lets herself sink into the weightless feeling spreading through her body. They sit in silence for a while enjoying everything that a planet like Coruscant makes you desperately miss. The clean air, nothing but the smell of night flowers and the fog slowly gathering over the lake, the soft and shimmery silence, not broken but enhanced by the rare sounds of animals in the nearby woods, the waves lapping at the shore, their own quiet breathing. 

It doesn’t work like she wanted it to, of course. It doesn’t blur his emotions, only makes them clearer. There’s no more vague shapes and colors forming in her mind, now she can feel what he feels for her as clearly as if he was professing his love with a whisper right into her ear. He looks like he’s about to do exactly that, and she definitely wouldn’t be able to handle it, so she cuts him off before he works up the courage and asks him to tell her more about the force. Only it turns out he isn’t much of an expert on the philosophical side, and smoking didn’t make it any easier to gather his words so they don’t get very far. But she’s still curious, and he’s getting restless, so she suggests a demonstration.

He gets up with a smile, and she follows, leans against the railing while he moves towards the center of the terrasse. Then he turns on his lightsaber and she hears the voice of every trainer she ever had in her head screaming no weapons under the influence.

“No, turn it off, it’s too dark,” she says, “I want to see you, not a light show.” That might be showing her hand a bit too much, but at least she has an excuse besides i want to see you better when you do tricks for my entertainment. She holds out her hand and he hesitates for just a moment before giving it to her.She hears the words my life, whispered somewhere far in the darkness.

He stands still for a moment, eyes closed, then launches into a series of completely ridiculous acrobatics. Or at least they would look ridiculous if she wasnt so completely besotted. He finishes it off with a jump exponentially higher than should be possible for a human then stands still, beaming with pride.

“How do you do it? Do you have to push yourself up, like when you lift something?”

“No, it’s just,” he starts, then pauses to find a way to explain it, still breathing a bit faster, “It’s like when you can’t reach something from where you’re sitting and then you just stretch yourself a bit further until you can.”

She gets exactly what he means, looks at him fascinated, and a fair bit jealous.

“Do you want to try it?” He asks, because she wouldn’t.

“Is that even possible?”

“I don’t know, let’s find out,” he says and she can hear the cocky smirk in his voice. 

She walks closer, until she’s standing right in front of him. He puts his hands just above her shoulders, barely brushing the fine fabric of her shirt, like he’s afraid to check if she’d let him touch her. She rises up on her toes until his hands settle fully on her shoulders, until she can feel their heat seeping into her skin, and further, deeper into her muscles, something new and electric spreading through her entire body. She’s not sure how, and he probably isn’t either, but it’s working.

“Try to jump,” he says, so she does, as hard as she can, and goes so much higher than she expected, until she’s looking down at him, until his hands slip off because he can’t reach any further, and she’s so surprised she trips on the landing, almost falls, but he steadies her with a hand on her elbow. He steps back and gestures at the terrasse with a smile, wide and proud. She laughs back, then starts running, gets up to full speed so fast she barely manages to stop before the wall. 

She turns back around, and launches straight into a cartwheel. She feels like she did as a child, doing cartwheels down a hill until her head spun and she fell over, rolling the rest, laughing the whole way down, completely indestructible. She stands on her hands, perfectly balanced, and gets back on her feet effortlessly. She doesn’t have the training he clearly does, all her experience with gymnastics comes from dance lessons over a decade ago, and the things all children pick up from their friends, but that doesn’t matter. She does have some martial arts training though, so she throws herself at the ground in a series of controlled rolls, jumping back up faster and better than ever before. It reminds her of the few times she saw the ocean, how she’d run and throw herself into waves taller than her, how they’d grab her, pull her deeper and roll her against the wet sand until she thought they’d never let her go, before throwing her back onto the beach, breathless and dizzy, desperate to do it again. It’s that same feeling of being flung about by a force of nature unimaginably stronger than herself, except this time she’s controlling it. Or at least someone is.

She hadn’t forgotten he was there, she can feel him inside her mind and body, how this power she feels ebbs and flows with his breath and not hers, how the pride she feels when she sticks a landing is not entirely her own. She had forgotten he was watching her though, had almost forgotten he was separate enough to watch in from the outside.

She turns around to look at him, stops to catch her breath. His face is half-hidden by shadows, but she can see him beaming, no malice, no judgement, just joy and pride in them both. He takes a half step forward, like he expects her to say something, but she’s not done yet.

She turns around and jumps up again, landing on the wall, holding on to the railing above her, then kicks off and jumps down. And stops in midair. She’s not standing on anything, nor does she feel anything touching her, holding her up. She’s just existing several feet up off the floor. Like it’s completely natural and maybe it is, with him. She looks behind her, and he’s right there, with his hand outstretched, holding her up without any sign of effort, but a fair bit of surprise at how easy it is. Maybe he was worried she’d fall, or maybe he was just getting bored, That’s fine, so is she. Still, it won’t do to have him grabbing her out of thin air. 

She reaches towards the railing, tries to climb back up, but he grabs at her leg, with his hand this time, not the force. Interesting, considering how cautious he was about touching her before. She did let him use the force on her entire body, and she wonders absentmindedly if he could feel her moving all this time, if it felt like touching her. They stay there, frozen for a moment, until she feels him shift his hand on her calf, like he’s regretting it, and she kicks him on the shoulder. It’s one of those things she still does sometimes, even after decades of being taught discipline and restraint, and usually regrets them the next day. But the drugs are hitting harder after all that movement, and she doesn’t know if there was ever a better moment in her life to make impulsive decisions. Besides, she didn’t even really kick him, just shoved him gently away. Still, he steps back in shock, letting go both with his hand and the force, leaving her hanging on the railing. The white noise of his presence in her mind gets louder than ever before. It’s disorienting to feel surprised at something she did herself, to feel anger and childish embarrassment bubbling up. She jumps down, and still feels that same strange thrum in her muscles cushioning her landing.

“Well come on then,” she says, aiming for a calming tone, but it comes out more like a dare. “It’s been a while since I’ve had a chance to spar with someone who wouldn’t be breaking galactic law by ruffling my hair.” He would definitely be breaking the law, not to mention direct orders from the Jedi council, if he hurt her, but she knows he won't. He stands there, clearly thinking the same thing, until he smiles again, and raises his hands in a defensive position, blocking her when she charges immediately.

He starts off taking it easy on her, careful not to hurt her, but quickly has to put his whole heart into it when he sees she isn’t holding back.

She remembers the precision with which he saved her life, how she woke up with the blue light of a lightsaber swinging inches above her face, how he moved with perfect confidence, like the thought that he could miss and hit her had never even crossed his mind. Now she gets to see that confidence in its full glory. He fights with all the poise of a knight, each planned, practiced strike moving smoothly into the next one. She doesn't. He's so much taller than her, almost everyone is, so she’s always been taught to fight dirty. She crouches down to make herself even smaller, so her kicks throw him off balance. She moves around him, faster than he can follow and tries to trip him up, chaotic, random hits breaking through his defence more often than not. 

He’s probably burning through the drugs faster, but she has more experience and the strange feeling must be slowing him down. Still, it shouldn’t be that easy to keep him on his toes. Her teachers always focused on her blaster aim, only throwing in basics of hand to hand combat in the already limited time she had for any training between her political duties, all of them agreeing that by the time she got within arms reach of an opponent, she would be, well, fucked. She certainly hopes for it this time, she thinks, then kicks herself for it mentally, and him, literally. 

She can feel her punches hitting stronger, though, her kicks flying higher, that electric thrum in her veins still there. Is he still helping her consciously? If so his concentration is impressive. She doesn’t think so though, because she can feel his increasing frustration, replacing how cocksure he’d been before. Is it just second nature to him already, then? Is she going to have this as long as she has him?

She manages to get behind him, pulls down on his braid, (and oh, what’s that he’s projecting at her now, because it's not frustration anymore) kicks at the back of his knees and he goes down. She presses two fingers against his neck, like a child pretending to hold a gun.

“If I had my blaster, you’d be dead,” she says, breathing heavily.

“If i had my lightsaber,” he starts, then turns around on his knees, faster than light and she thinks for a moment he’s going to throw her on the ground, but he just grabs both her arms. He doesn’t finish the sentence, too scared to say something so treasonous, just like he was too scared to tackle her. Or maybe the words just got lost, because hers certainly did. He makes a pretty picture kneeling in front of her, panting in exertion, pupils wide from the drugs and the darkness. She’s still holding his braid and she twirls it around a finger, feeling the muscles in her forearm shifting under his vice tight grip.

He tries to get up, and she pulls down on it sharply in warning. He'd try to kiss her, she knows, can feel the intent, can almost taste the memory of herself through this mind, and she wants it too but. Not now. Not yet. She made a promise and she’s too proud to give in after barely a few hours. He stays down, inches even closer and presses his head gently into her chest, breathing her in. Good boy. He gasps and she almost thinks she said it out loud but no, she just thought it strong enough for him to hear. 

And still, always, the force (or maybe it’s just him) rushes through her veins, and she feels addicted already, like she might die if she ever loses the feeling.

***

I should have gone with him, she thinks, half listening to Beru talking about Tatooine.

“I've only been here once before, ten years ago and I didn’t see much.” she answers. I should have gone with him he can’t be alone there’s no other speeder. She can feel him growing angrier the further he gets, and it’s pounding away at her ears like a heartbeat underwater. She should have gone with him, something is shouting at her, desperately clawing to get her attention, and she’s stuck here making small talk while the world ends in the back of her mind. She feels a burst of euphoria for a moment, but the second of hope she lets herself feel is quickly overshadowed by a sad and malicious laugh. And suddenly the wailing and spiraling gets too fast, turns into a blurred, muted scream, paralyzing cold seeping into her mind. And then there’s nothing. 

***

“You’re not all powerful, Ani,” she says, trying to comfort him, not sure if it can even be done. 

“Well I should be. Someday I will be.” He’s pretty damn close already.

“It’s all Obi-Wan’s fault.” She wants to say that these things happen, that throwing blame around won’t fix this, but she can’t, because this is clearly somebody’s fault. Probably not entirely Obi-Wan’s, but the idea that no one went back to get his mother had never even occurred to her before he’d mentioned it. She’s not entirely clear on the Jedi rules about attachment, the concept functions mostly as the setup for bad jokes among the general population, but if they really mean that a child can be separated from his mother when he’s old enough to remember her, to love her deeply, knowing nothing about her fate except that he’s leaving her in slavery… That’s not unfunny, that’s barbaric. Or maybe it’s worse than that. Maybe the unspoken rules the galactic senate has about ignoring slavery in the outer rim are what prevented the Jedi from intervening. That would mean it's her fault, at least partially. 

“He’s jealous, he’s holding me back,” Anakin continues, and the last part might be true, but it’s better than the alternative of setting him loose on the world. 

Apparently it isn’t enough though, because he’s still talking.

“I… I killed them. I killed them all. They’re dead, every single one of them. And the children too.” The buzzing in her ears is getting louder again, deafening and she isn’t as horrified as she should be and she’s ashamed of that. Her heart would shatter if she accepted what he said, if she let herself truly feel it, so she feels nothing, and instead she thinks, and thinks and she can’t stifle what has been forming at the edge of her mind for days now. He is her responsibility now, for better or for worse. She feels like she’s watching the whole thing from above, her body speaking calm, soothing words, while her mind is planning.

“I wasn’t strong enough to save you,” he says, kneeling on his mother’s grave, “I promise i won’t fail again,” and she knows now that it’s not just his promise anymore, it’s hers too. She gets a chance to prove it very soon.

Back on the ship he barely nods at her and she knows what he wants her to do. She retransmits the message, wondering if he thinks he’s controlling her. But seeing how easy it is for him to break a direct order from the council, with nothing more than a few words he must see who’s really in charge here. 

She doesn’t feel bad about it anymore, dragging him away from the Jedi, not once she’s seen what listening to them brought him to.

***

“Whatever happens out there, follow my lead,” she says once they get there.

“Don’t worry, I’ve given up trying to argue with you.” There is no resentment in his voice, a bit of petulance, yes, but mostly relief, like he’s been waiting all his life for someone to tell him how to do what he already knows is right. 

He doesn’t, of course, immediately kills several Geonosians. But it’s a start.

***

A bad start, since they get caught soon after, sent to be executed in the most dramatic way possible, because that’s just how the world works around him. But that allows her to be just as dramatic, to lay bare all the confusing poetry her mind has been creating about him.

“Don’t be afraid,” he says, and only then does she realise that she should be.

“I’m not afraid to die. I’ve been dying a little bit each day since you came into my life.” And she really has. At least some part of her. The idealistic, hopeful part. So maybe that’s not dying at all. Maybe she’s just growing up.

“I love you,” she says, and she’s more sure of that than she’s been fo anything before.

“You love me? I thought we had decided not to fall in love. That we would be forced to live a lie, and that it would destroy our lives.” He says it slowly, like he’s angry at her, like he really thought she’d be strong enough to resist this when he couldn’t.

“I think our lives are about to be destroyed anyway.” She does think that, or at least know that she should, but she feels something entirely different, and so she’s certain they won’t be because when she says “I truly, deeply love you,” it’s a spell, one that means they can’t, because he will not let her die. This isn’t hope, there’s no need for that. It’s an undeniable fact.

The kiss seals it, and of course that’s when the ridwan moves forward into the light on the arena. The crowd is loud, but distant,and she’s never had stage fright before. Despite the chains she feels like a queen again, more powerful than she has in years. 

She doesn’t turn to look at him, but out of the corner of her eye she can tell Obi-Wan has noticed that something’s different, about both of them. Sooner or later he’ll also have a choice to make. With them or against them. Anakin sends him a half smile over his shoulder, more of a greeting than an apology. 

She’s barely paying attention to their conversation, focused on opening the cuffs, until she hears Obi-Wan’s sarcastic “good job”, feels it hit Anakin like a slap. Like he didn’t get himself into the exact same situation as them. Like he isn’t supposed to be the master, instead of needing a teenager to come rescue him.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Anakin says, and that's his problem. He’s nothing but bad feelings and doubt. But she doesn’t have time for those, never did, and she’s climbing up the column already.

As much as she’s glad she’s not doing this in a ceremonial gown she could use the blaster that she always keeps hidden somewhere in the draping.

From up there she can see the whole arena and it feels ancient, spiritual almost, how the crowd is going wild for the spectacle of death. But she can still feel that hum in her veins, like the adrenaline rushing through Anakin is making her stronger too, and as much as she pretends her element is long discussions and careful consideration, there’s something about solving her problems with violence, letting her body lead, and move, and hit that makes her feel free and powerful in a way a carefully negotiated compromise never does.

“Jump,” he shouts at her, and it’s too high, or it should be, but that doesn’t matter. She doesn’t close her eyes and hope on the way down, she keeps them open and locked on him, and it’s not hope that cushions her fall, that pulls her a few inches to the side so she falls where she’s meant to. She’s breathless and bewildered, and she kisses him, because she can’t bear not to, right as he turns his head, as if on command.

She steadies Obi-Wan with a hand on his thigh when he jumps on behind her. She’s on the back of a wild animal, halfway through her own execution and she’s never felt safer in her life. It reminds her of a legend she’d hear as a child. A queen and two knights, a horrible beast. It has as many endings as there are elders to tell it, some tragic and hopeless, others bright and strong, and it’s always the queen's choice that determines the fate of the world. And she will take that responsibility, she won’t pretend she doesn’t want it anymore. She’ll take all the power she can get and she will fix this world.

Then the droids come out and surround them, but she knows how this goes now. This is a story, and the situation has to get hopeless before help arrives. And then it does, lightsabers igniting all around the arena, someone throwing spare ones to her two knights. 

They fall once the explosions start, but now she’s finally got a blaster, and she can actually do something. She jumps on the next animal she sees and despite the noise she knows that Anakin is right behind her, that no stray blaster bolt will hit her as she’s shooting droids.

“You call this a diplomatic solution?” He teases, and the world allows it, nothing shooting at them for a moment, but that’s probably just because they’ve already taken out all the droids in range.

“No, I call it aggressive negotiations.” And she knows she shouldn’t be making jokes, but she’s just beginning to understand that as long as he’s near, she’s no less safe in the middle of a battle than in front of a fire at the lake house. No more safe either. And she shouldn’t feel that either, she can see Jedi falling all around them, but the force won’t let him fall, and he won’t ever let her.

The battle stops, just for a moment. The exact moment they need for reinforcements to arrive. But then again, that’s just how these things work. She’d been half expecting it, which is why she sees them first, shouts to make the others notice. 

Once she’s on the ship, seeing the battle from above, the arena littered with dead Jedi and Geonosians alike, it finally hits her how horrible this is. She never saw the worst of the battle of Naboo, the Gungans had dealt with their dead themselves, and the pilots who died in space were lost forever. But now she finally understands what war is, when you’re fighting it yourself, how much death and destruction it really brings.

***

“Aim right above the dual cells,” Anakin says. She’d be impressed if she weren’t so horrified. Obi-Wan is, though, and tells him.

“Good call, my young padawan.”

She feels Anakin swell with infectious pride. Is it like that for everyone else? Do all the other Jedi feel everything he does this strongly too? It must be unbearable when it’s not filtered through love. No wonder they don’t trust him. Or maybe he hides it better from them, maybe only she can feel all of it. She wonders if Obi-Wan knows that if he just praised him more often there would be no more doubts, no more rebelling. Though maybe that’s why he doesn’t. Maybe he wouldn’t know what to do with all that power just waiting to be pointed in the right direction. She would, though, and she will.

They see Dooku, and now she’s the one getting a bad feeling.

“We’re gonna need some help,” she shouts, panicked, though she’s not sure why.

“Anakin and i can handle this,” Obi-Wan answers, and she might have believed him, if it hadn’t been the last thing she heard before falling.

She wakes up on the sand and she doesn’t feel safe anymore, no matter how much further from the fighting she is. Anakin is alone with all his bad feelings and rash decisions. She shouldn’t feel that way, he’s the one who’s meant to protect her, but they’re both safer together. The whole world is safer when they’re together. 

***

When she sees Dooku escaping she fears the worst, but surely she would have felt it. When she finally gets to Anakin he’s in bad shape but he’ll live and she can’t help but kiss him again in front of Obi-Wan, and Yoda, and everyone else. She doesn’t care at all anymore. She probably will again, but for now all that matters is that they’re together again.

***

She’s not on Coruscant to see the clone army marching, another war started on her authority but without her say. She’s getting married, and somehow that feels just as significant, just as big, and not just for them. For them it’s purely symbolic. They’re already joined in every way that counts. But they both know their lives are about to get much more complicated, and symbolism might be exactly what they need. So when he’d asked her, she’d dug out her great aunt’s wedding dress and there in her favorite place on earth with no one but two droids as witnesses, and a monk from a local religion sworn to silence, she swears that she’ll love him forever, and means it. If someone had asked her a few weeks ago if she believed in that, she’d probably have said that what’s important is loving someone in the present, and trying to get as much happiness out of that as you can, without worrying about the future. But now, with him, she knows she will love him until her dying breath just as surely as she knows the sun will rise tomorrow. In a way, she’s loved him all her life, was made for him just as he was made for her, it just took them a while to find each other.

**Author's Note:**

> i love how all my romantic fics are teen rated, not because of the kissing, but because of the drugs. anyway
> 
> step one to saving the galaxy: space weed
> 
> Is Padme force-sensitive or not? Is she just Anakin-sensitive? Is he just so in love with her that he infected her with his weird chosen one powers? No really, I’m asking cause I’m not sure either. I do go a bit more into that in the third chapter, but this is already by far the longest thing I've written, so it might take a while to get there
> 
> I also want to add that I don't hate the Jedi nearly as much as this would suggest, but i feel like Padme has every right to.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr @transmalewife


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